


when a new love feels old (and an old love feels new)

by badboy_fangirl



Category: Real Person Fiction, Vampire Diaries RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 03:32:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10676823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: In some ways they were like an old married couple.





	when a new love feels old (and an old love feels new)

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Every story I wrote about NIan was written between December 2010 and January 2014. These are old and hold no bearing on how things actually were, are, or will be. I know Ian is married now, and I am not trying to be disrespectful. For all these years, I kept these stories locked on LiveJournal and protected, and it just occurred to me that these are just stories, and these are as much characters as any of the other fanfic I've ever written. It also represents a lot of my creative time and energy and I'm proud of these stories. So I'm posting them now, with the intent that others might enjoy them.

In some ways they were like an old married couple.   
  
It had been two years, after all, since the original hook-up (after work, on set, in her dressing room, not the way he planned it, and totally tacky, but she'd blurted out that she was falling in love with him and he lost his head a bit), and they were very busy people. They worked anywhere from 12 to 16 hour days, and so what if they were young, caffeine-mainlining, yoga-practicing enthusiasts? They were still human, and they needed sleep.  
  
More often than not, their together time was just that:  _sleeping together_.   
  
They were so fucking boring, seriously. If people knew that, they wouldn't be so hot to trot to get them to admit they were dating.  
  
As Nina gives him that look though—the one that follows  _Damon and Rebekah! Speaking of Originals..._  he gives it right back, and he knows, when they get back to the hotel—at least for tonight, it's going to be like those early months when they could never get enough. Back when he couldn't stop kissing her, even if he was dog-tired and even when she breathlessly protested that she needed to go home and get some sleep; then they'd lose an hour somewhere, and suddenly the sun was coming up (or going down when they were on night-shoots) and they were practically dead on their feet from too much sex and not enough sleep.  
  
(That's probably why he'd gotten pneumonia, now that he thinks about it.)  
  
But, yeah, tonight, after all this? He's gonna give it to her good.  
  
  
  
  
  
Nina just shakes her head and won't make eye contact with him after he says,  _It's like every woman in my life_.  
  
The crowd goes wild, and she can't help but think about everyone interpreting that just like he meant it.   
  
There is a woman in his life. It's obvious to anyone with a set of eyes, but nothing is ever said—specifically. They had agreed to that as he lay on top of her on the tiny sofa in her dressing room the day they made it official. They would never confirm their relationship in any media outlet, to any reporter, to any _one_ , period, that wasn't within their trusted circle.  
  
She doesn't  _torture_  him, obviously. Well, maybe she did a little bit in the beginning when she realized he wanted her, when she understood that the force of his affection and accepting it would be nearly as overwhelming as Elena welcoming Damon's ardor—it hadn't been because she didn't want him. (She's not a total, raving lunatic, after all). It had just been so  _overwhelming_. She was used to boys parading around pretending to be men; she'd never known someone like Ian, good to his very bones, but relentless in his causes. Not that she'd been a cause to him in anyway; she was just someone he wanted in his life in a very specific way, and he'd made it abundantly clear that she was it for him.  
  
It had been a long time coming when she finally accepted what she felt in return for him, but she'd told him almost instantly, and that had resulted in an explosion of emotion between them.  
  
She could still remember the heat, the swell of love in her chest, the throbbing between her legs, the way he'd touched her so reverently, but in this fevered rapture that made any definition of  _falling in love_  coalesce into  _dropped off the face of the planet **fallen**_ , as if it had just been the day before. It had been the most intense experience of her life, and still had the power to take her back to when it was new and amazing.  
  
Then again, most things with Ian were new and amazing. Like eating dinner, and going to basketball games, sitting in cafes in Paris, and walking red carpets in Toronto. It didn't matter what it was, if he was there, it had a shiny halo around it somehow.  
  
He swings his jacket around her shoulders a few moments later, and the simplicity of that further reminds her. Ian Somerhalder would never have to stand outside someone's window with a boom box over his head, because every little gesture every single day said just as much.  
  
Said  _more_ , really.  
  
There was love, and then there was whatever Nina felt for him, and that? She hadn't come across the proper terminology, not in English, or French, or Bulgarian.  
  
It's okay; she has a long life ahead of her to learn all the languages. Maybe somewhere she'll find what she's looking for.  
  
  
  
  
  
They leave the Chateau Marmont a few hours later, ready to go back to their hotel. It had been a great evening, and as they slide into the backseat of a limo, Nina snuggles her head into his shoulder and Candice calls Zach. She speaks softly, quiet laughter escaping her lips periodically. It's pleasant white noise, and before he knows it, he's drifted off, the smooth ride of the car easing him out as they make their way across Hollywood.  
  
Nina's lips wake him up, her breath tender against his ear. "We're home, Ian," she whispers, and then they're scooting out onto the sidewalk, thanking the driver and saying goodnight to Candice.   
  
They're silent in the elevator up to their floor. Nina's still wrapped securely in his suit jacket, but she's got her arm around his waist and her hand in his hip pocket, a habit she developed early on to tease him. It still had the power to turn him on, but mostly it was a gesture of comfort, something that she did that felt right, that let him know everything was the way it should be.  
  
That she was with him, the way he was with her.  
  
As they slide past the door into their room, he cups her face in his hands, drawing her mouth to his. He kisses her gently, runs his tongue over her bottom lip until she sucks on it, and then he's pushing his coat from her shoulders, tugging her dress carefully from her body. She helps a little, trying to make sure he doesn't get his ring or his watch caught in the decorative sleeves, but mostly her hands are unbuttoning his shirt and sliding inside his pants, and he's swallowed by the need for her.  
  
In the beginning, there had been the fascination with her body—with the way her breasts filled his palms and how she fit him like a glove; how he could make her come so easily, and she could deep throat him like a porn star but, you know, with class; he could fuck her five times a night and still look forward to the next round like he was 15 and he'd never done it before, but of course without all the frailties of a 15-year-old's anatomy. Now, it was so much more than that; it was need that went through his body, that pierced his soul; it was the connection he only felt when her eyes flared wide as he entered her, and there was only true, real peace in that inner-most place within him when her legs hugged his hips and her fingers curled around the back of his neck, tugging him as close as possible for the moment that blew them apart and fused them together.  
  
When he makes love with Nina now, every touch is familiar, every whimper part of the soundtrack of their lives—the only song he ever wants to hear, for the rest of his life.  
  
Now every time, instead of it being like the first, it's like the last. If he gets hit by a bus tomorrow, if the world catches fire and disappears into the universe, his last act, whether here in the quiet alone with her, or out there with his jacket around her shoulders, will have been one of tenderness, loving her with every bit of himself that he can.  
  
She arches under him, crying out, gasping his name, and then they're there, flying apart, flying together. He presses his lips to her throat, feels the sweat across his skin, hears her, faintly, "Love you, so much."  
  
That's the part that never gets old, can never  _be_  old. Nina Dobrev loving  _him_ , thinking she's the lucky one somehow.  
  
He knows the truth.  
  
  
  
  
  
On the flight back to Atlanta, Ian sleeps. She watches him, because she's not tired for once, and he's so beautiful when he's like this that she can't help it. She traces the pink in his cheeks with her eyes, enjoys the way his dark lashes flutter periodically against his skin. He breathes in and his head lolls a little, his lips parting.  
  
She touches his chin gently and then presses her mouth to his. He responds, even though he doesn't wake, and she smiles for no one to see. Just because he  _is_ , just because he's  _hers_.  
  
She leans back in her seat, puts the little airline pillow on her shoulder and pulls him easily into her space. He settles against her, a sigh billowing out.  
  
She knows it's sappy, but this is why people write love songs. If she had the ability, she'd write the biggest hit of all time. She presses her cheek to the soft hair on the top of his head. She's young; she could still do that.  
  
As soon as she finds the right words.

**Author's Note:**

> Title lifted from the Chris Young song "Old Love Feels New." 
> 
> Inspired by PaleyFest, March 2012.


End file.
